


Another Word for Desperate

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Kinks, Knife Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: "The cool metal of Dean's knife scratches at the skin of Sam's neck, and each time the flat of the blade makes a pass over his jugular, Sam shivers, whimpering."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Another Word for Desperate  
Author: closetcrombie  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17, straight up  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 2861  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: Dean’s hand takes it’s place around Sam’s cock again, only warmer and wetter, and Sam opens his eyes to see that his brother is jerking him off, using his blood to slick the way.  
Warnings: Incest, blood play, knives  
Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim everything that, by law, has to be disclaimed.  
Notes: Written as a sort of early birthday present to myself.   
  
 

  
  
The cool metal of Dean's knife scratches at the skin of Sam's neck, and each time the flat of the blade makes a pass over his jugular, Sam shivers, whimpering.  
  
“Dean…please…”  
  
The knife stops it’s slow back and forth, tip poised and pressing into the soft, sensitive flesh just underneath Sam’s jaw, and Sam breathes in sharp as the blade digs in shallowly. He can feel the blood well to the surface, a tiny drop that traces its way, oh-so-slowly downward, trailing wetly over the tendons of his neck, outstanding now because he has to keep tense or risk further, potentially fatal, injury.  
  
Fuck if this isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.  
  
He feels Dean’s erection digging into his bare ass, prodding at him through the rough denim of Dean’s jeans in a way that brings to Sam’s mind a lewd sort of likeness to the knife at his neck.  
  
“How attached are you to this shirt, Sam?” his brother breathes into his ear, sounding for all the world like he’s just asked Sam to spit-shine his cock for him, and before he can tell Dean that he really doesn’t care either way about the goddamn shirt so long as he doesn’t stop _touching_ him, it’s too late for the comment to be of any consequence anyway.  
  
He looks down to see his now exposed chest, framed on either side by the dangling remains of the once-remarkably comfortable garment. He can’t really complain, though, because in the next instant Dean’s mouth latches onto the little wound on Sam’s neck and starts to suck on it, blood flowing slowly out of the about-the-size-of-a-pin prick and into his waiting mouth, and Sam can hear Dean moaning then, but whether it’s because he’s getting off on the blood or because he resumes his grinding against Sam’s ass, he can’t tell for certain.  
  
For all he knows, it could be (and quite probably is) both.  
  
The knife is back, again, but this time on his abdomen, tracing lightly over the taut skin just above Sam’s navel for a few seconds before actually _dipping into it_ and Sam almost goes crazy because Dean _knows_ what that will do to him. But he does it anyway. And with a sharp as all get out _knife_ no less. It’s all Sam can do to not buck into the teasing touch, because while Dean’s little fascination with knife play might be hot as hell, being skewered on account of the kink is not.  
  
His brother turns the knife slowly in Sam’s belly button, and Sam can feel every degree of position change going straight from his navel to his cock, and it throbs in time with his rapidly beating heart.  
  
Sam keens in his throat as Dean drags the blade up and out of his belly button, pressure light enough not to cut but hard enough to dimple the skin underneath it, and Sam watches the slow path that Dean’s hand makes up his torso with the knife, shivering as the now-warm metal caresses his skin in ways that he knows he’ll only ever permit as long as his brother is the one wielding the weapon against him.  
  
His stomach muscles contract and expand as the sharp tip of Dean’s knife of choice - smooth-edged, thank God, because the serrated ones tickle, and yeah, not a good thing to be laughing when one false move, one slip of the hand could result in a not-so-arousing stab wound - makes its way around each and every individually cut muscle of Sam’s abdomen while Dean’s breath is hot on his neck and his free hand is ‘ _Finally.‘_ hot on Sam’s dick.  
  
Sam hears and feels the rasp of the blade moving across his torso, edge for the most part teasing and light on his flesh, but occasionally pressing down just hard enough to leave a stinging, shallow slice in his golden-flushed skin, and he watches the redness of his own blood come up to the surface to collect in the superficial wound, perversely aroused by the thought of his brother hurting him, _marking_ him in a way like this, so primal and animalistic.  
  
Suddenly Dean’s hand tightens on Sam’s cock, and before he can think to restrain himself, Sam bucks into the contact, drawing back immediately and hissing in pain as his brother’s blade plunges into the soft skin of his side, where it had, until that point, been running in long, sweeping strokes, teasingly up and down the long plane of his upper body.  
  
He hears Dean laughing in his ear, voice all whiskey and burnt-sugar, and shivers (because that tone _always_ does things to him), before crying out in unexpected pleasure as Dean’s hand tightens again, this time directly on the head of Sam’s cock. He feels the blood from his new wound making a slow descent down his bare hip and groans out Dean’s name in frustration when he feels his brother’s hand release his cock to gather the hot, slick blood from his skin.  
  
Dean’s hand takes it’s place around Sam’s cock again, only warmer and wetter, and Sam opens his eyes to see that his brother is jerking him off, using his _blood_ to slick the way.  
  
 _Holy fuck_.  
  
He moans out, “Fuck me, Dean,” grinding himself back onto his brother’s cock harshly, breathing heavily as Dean’s blood-stained hand quickens the strokes on his cock, thumb taking care to pass every now and then over the head, gathering the slickness there to intermingle with the stark redness of his blood and ease the way even more.  
  
All of a sudden, the knife that has been prone since Sam had accidentally impaled himself upon it starts moving again, and Sam has to still himself or risk gaining another injury.  
  
This is made doubly hard by Dean’s hand again leaving his dick to reach around and undo the fly of his jeans; initially because Sam wants his brother’s hand back on his prick, but then later because when the hand _does_ return, it is accompanied by Dean’s now unclothed cock nestling firmly between the cheeks of Sam’s ass.  
  
Dean’s hips roll sensuously up and force Sam’s cock further into his tightly clenched, blood-covered fist, and Dean squeezes Sam’s dick on the way back down, fingers running over the red-stained flesh again and again. He slowly, surreptitiously drags the knife back down Sam’s body, the flat of the blade scraping against his brother’s left nipple, causing it to pebble up, and Sam hisses in pleasure when Dean reverses the direction of the movement, sliding the warm steel back over his nipple again - once, twice, three times. Sam’s knees almost buckle as the knife makes a sweeping pass over the sensitive nub of flesh a fourth time in the same instant that Dean’s fingernails scratch lightly over the head of his cock, one catching in his piss slit to make him cry out in pain-laced pleasure.  
  
Dean uses this distraction to his advantage, roughly shoving the hilt of his knife back into the shallow wound on Sam’s side, restarting the blood flow and making Sam shake and curse from the pain. Sam’s knees give as Dean’s wrist gives a quick twist, and the metal inside of his freshly pierced skin digs in deeper before being jerked out.  
  
Dean follows his brother’s movement, supporting his weight as they come to rest on the ground. He feels Sam’s body shudder and he drops the knife, left hand still stroking his brother’s cock roughly, his right moving to the again-bleeding wound on his side. His hand strokes lightly along the smooth edge of the laceration, skin blood-slick and hot against the pads of his fingers.  
  
He bathes his hand in Sam’s blood, making sure that his fingers are totally covered, before he draws a long line with his digits down his brother’s body, groaning at the sight of the red fluid standing in a stark contrast to the glowing, golden skin underneath.  
  
His fingers trail over Sam’s abdomen, streaking his blood across his flesh, and Dean draws a small symbol directly above Sam’s navel, whispering an incantation that Sam is too far gone to notice, much less try to decipher. His hand moves on, fingers dragging slow down Sam’s skin, to his cock, his balls, his asshole. Dean unceremoniously shoves two blood-wet fingers into his brother’s ass, and Sam hisses in surprised pain, arching further into Dean’s waiting fist to get away from the intrusion, making his wound tear open even further.  
  
Dean clenches his fist tighter, squeezes almost brutally on the next upstroke, and remoistens his hand with the precum gathered at the tip of Sam’s cock, the fluid mixing with Sam’s blood in a way that it as obscene as it is arousing.  
  
Sam moans again, thrashing in his brother grasp as Dean’s third finger forces it’s way past the tight ring of muscle guarding the entrance to his body. He gasps out Dean’s name when those roughly probing fingers find his prostate, brushing over the spot only once, but it’s enough to have Sam begging.  
  
“Please, Dean…fuck me…I can’t…I don’t…Christ…”  
  
So Dean’s fingers leave his brother’s ass, coming up again to gather more of Sam’s spilled blood and using it to slick his cock. He strokes Sam’s cock in time with his own for a few moments, and by the time the blunt head of his dick nudges at Sam’s asshole, his brother is unable to do anything except thrash wildly, and keen low in his throat.  
  
Dean presses in, cock wet and hot from Sam’s blood, and Sam moans pitifully as he is filled, inch by agonizingly slow inch with his brother’s thick cock, body stretching to accommodate - the burning pain tracing heat through his veins despite Dean’s earlier preparation. He cries out weakly as his brother’s hand tightens further around his dick, hand making a slow trek up and down once - twice - before coming to a stop abruptly; Dean’s hand is clasped firmly, thumb and forefinger making a tight ring just under the ridge of his cock head.  
  
Dean’s free hand raises Sam up to press against him from the back, the cotton of his shirt rubbing sensuously against the bare, sweat-slick skin of Sam’s back. His palm flattens against Sam’s abdomen, just over the symbol he drew earlier. This time the Latin he breathes into Sam’s ear processes, and he thinks he hears something like “protect” before Dean’s hips surge forward unexpectedly, and his cock slams dead on into his prostate and Sam doesn’t care about anything other than his brother doing that again.  
  
Dean’s fingers loosen from around the head of his cock, and the rush of blood back into the deprived flesh makes Sam groan, because the sensation is accompanied by his brother’s fingertips ghosting over his straining erection. His hips roll in time with Dean’s thrusts, first back onto his waiting cock, and then forward into his waiting fist, over and over until Sam can’t focus on anything, can barely remember what it’s like to _not_ be here, with Dean, like this - perfect.  
  
He opens his mouth when he feels his brother’s fingers running along the seam of his lips, breath coming in gasps as his body is jarred by the increasing force of Dean’s thrusts into his ass. His tongue winds around the digits in his mouth, the combined blood, semen, skin and Dean tasting of metal, musk, and salt, and he breathes in the scent of them - sex, blood, desperation - wondering if maybe Hell was as bad a place as they’d always been told.  
  
The next thing he knows, Dean’s fingers are gone, and he can feel the blade pressing back into his skin, the cold metal tracing biting paths along the fevered skin of his abdomen. As he grinds back into his brother, friction so shockingly _there_ that it’s almost painful, he breathes out a plea.  
  
“Hurt me.”  
  
Dean’s hips jerk at the muttered request, the moan ripped from his throat making Sam’s heart race. The hand around his cock suddenly becomes rougher, the calluses on Dean’s palm crazily stimulating as he harshly pulls on Sam’s cock, all pretense of tenderness gone.  
  
The knife’s path continues softly for a few moments, bringing goose bumps to Sam’s skin, before suddenly Dean is pressing the blade down harder, and Sam’s breath escapes him as he feels the very tip of that cold steel puncture his flesh in a long, clean line down his abdomen.  
  
He hopes it scars.  
  
He feels the first trickles of blood running down his body, the sensation no longer as frightening as it had been the first time, and then Dean is shoving him forward. His hands reach out to brace himself against the impact, and Dean thrusts into his body _hard_ , jarring him. He feels the knife now dancing along the taut skin of his back, the blade running over his vertebrae, each individual ridge becoming intimately acquainted with the sharp, biting edge of Dean’s weapon of choice.  
  
Dean withdraws almost completely and lingers for a moment, making Sam wonder what the fuck he’s waiting for. He arches his back, and tries to impale himself on Dean’s dick because damnit, if his brother isn’t going to fuck him, he’ll fuck _himself_. But Dean doesn’t allow that - just presses the flat of his knife into the back of Sam‘s neck, and Sam goes still.  
  
Dean slams forward again, the force making Sam’s body jolt, his cock head pressing hard into his prostate while he drags the blade down the length of Sam’s body harshly and Sam screams when he feels the bite of the knife slicing deeply into the flesh of the small of his back. He hears Dean hiss, feels him lean over to nip at the sweaty skin of his neck, the fabric of his shirt catching in Sam’s newest wound, dragging roughly along the abused skin. He moans lowly when Dean pulls out completely, wincing as his brother starts to fuck against the cut on his back, the salt-sting of Dean’s precum making the injury feel raw.  
  
He doesn’t know he’s pleading until he hears Dean growl against his ear, “You’re so pretty when you beg, Sammy.” and then Dean is breathing out things like, “I wish you could see yourself, Sam - all bloodied and needy - _begging_ for my cock.” and “Do you want me to fuck you again, Sammy? You like the way my dick feels inside your tight, hot little ass? How would feel if it was my mouth around your dick?  I'd bite you bloody, and you'd love every second, wouldn't you?” and Sam can’t breathe, because between Dean’s sex-roughened, gravelly voice whispering obscenities in his ear and his hand tightening to the point that it’s almost painful around Sam’s cock, Sam can’t concentrate on anything other than _this_.  
  
He comes to the sound of his brother sighing his name, to the feel of Dean’s cock sliding back into his ass, slicker now with more of Sam’s blood, to thoughts of scars and Hell and knives.  
  
Dean’s hand leaves Sam’s cock to tangle in his hair, jerking his head back sharply, and Sam cries out in pain before he feels the press of Dean’s knife at his throat, caressing his Adam’s apple, and making him shiver, whimper dying in his throat.  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
And the knife stays in place while Dean’s thrusts resume, and staying still is almost the hardest thing Sam has ever had to do. He feels every ridge and every curve on his brother’s prick as he is fucked, and bites his tongue to keep himself quiet, to keep himself under control. To keep himself from getting a tracheotomy a la Dean’s new favorite toy.  
  
He bears down on Dean’s cock, and Dean’s wrist twitches, nicking Sam’s neck, and Sam can take a hint, so he lets up. He groans as the hand in his hair tightens, twisting harshly, and his scalp tingles. Dean’s thrusts become increasingly frantic, and the harder he rides Sam, the harder it is for Sam to stay still. He breathes raggedly, biting his lips bloody as he feels Dean’s cock sliding in and out of his body again and again, helpless to do anything but ride it out.  
  
The wet, meaty sounds of their fucking reach Sam’s ears, and his spent cock twitches interestedly, but that’s as much of a response as he gets. Dean leans down and nuzzles the flushed, sweat-salty skin of his neck, biting down harshly and thrusting against Sam one - two - thee more times before he grounds out Sam’s name and Sam can feel his brother’s scorching come coat the inside of his ass.  
  
Dean pulls out, lowering his knife at the same time, and Sam is then pressed against his brother’s chest again, one of Dean’s arms wrapped tightly around his middle, secure, but making sure to avoid further aggravating any of his injuries. He feels Dean pressing light kisses onto his neck, as though making up for all of his rough treatment earlier  
  
“Happy birthday, Sammy.”  
  
~


End file.
